My Father's Creations
by darkforetold
Summary: Warnings: None  Description: Castiel observes humanity.


_My Father's creations…_

Castiel sat quietly on the park bench as the sapphire blue of his eyes watched the scene before him. Children laughed joyfully as they played, climbing metallic apparatuses in the dying light of the sun. The warmth touched his skin, contrasting the play of the chilled wind against his cheek and dark hair. This… this was his Father's creation. All of it crafted by His loving hands. Cherished and delicate things that needed to be protected and loved just as his Father had. And so he would. Yet… all he could see was pain. He doubted the point of it all; to save a world that was truly neglected, forgotten and damaged by these creatures that had been entrusted with its care. His Father's masterpiece wasted… Something stirred within Castiel's vessel just then, a spark of something dark, channeled by his own thoughts. Was it _anger_? It felt almost human.

His reverie was broken, catching the dance of a falling leaf out of the corner of his eyes. Graceful yet so careless in its tumble to drift and settle beside him on the park bench. The turn of his head was slow, thoughtful, intense gaze transfixed as if the leaf had never existed until this moment. It was then that his long and slender fingers plucked the leaf from its repose, lifted it to inspection and twirled it all too slowly by its stem. His eyes caressed each edge, every fiber, and captured the motion to memory. The smallest wonders seemed to amaze him; he that had seen so much during eons of existence. Deaths of brothers and sisters, the Fall of Lucifer… yet nothing could prepare him for the sheer beauty of creation.

The angel leaned forward to rest elbows to knees, turning the leaf while simply staring. Seemingly for no rhyme nor reason, Castiel opened his fingers and let it fall from his grasp. His eyes never left its decent, fascinated even by gravity itself... and how every element together made perfect sense. Grime clung to delicate fingers, marring too-perfect-skin with an irritable sensation. Slowly, he turned his hand palm-up and pressed the bits of sand and filth against tender flesh, reveling in the physical manifestation of feeling. The newness, the curiosity of it all… he exhaled as if it were simply overwhelming.

Castiel leaned back, trench coat fanned in a pool all around him, and inhaled deeply. The air in his lungs, the scent of winter's inevitable approach; it was the perfection of creation's symphony. Everything played a role in his Father's work. And it was for these reasons that his brothers and sisters were so envious; their Father had put so much detail, so much care and love into this world... this world for _them._

The day's laughter drew his wandering attentions to the interactions between mother and child. The bountiful joy shared between them, the bond. Emotion itself; something he would never fully comprehend. Something for which he only had names and definitions of what should exist. If he had the full range of human emotion, perhaps he would have felt sad or even envious. Empty... nothingness. Simply an angel in a vessel. A warrior posted at the front lines of an extraordinary battle. His Father's soldier.

Motion just outside of his vision caught his attention, incited the slow and deliberate turn of his head to lay witness to a child that had approached him. The little girl smiled broad, missing a tooth, and giggled. Blonde hair veiled clear blue eyes, but did nothing to shield her smile.

"My mommy says you have the face of an angel." The little girl giggled again.

Castiel said nothing, stared at her, and his face remained stoic. Before he had the mind to respond, the assumed-mother charged up behind the girl and whispered harshly, "What have I told you about talking to strangers?" Within moments, the angel was left to his own thoughts once again.

_My Father's creations…_

In a word: breath-taking. The slightest thread of a smile touched his lips and sapphire eyes closed. He embraced the remaining peaceful moments of the day, sitting quietly until the sun fully died in the horizon. In the presence of dusk, the sound of wings… and where once there had been an angel, there was nothing more.


End file.
